


lullaby

by deadlybride



Series: A Perfect Circle [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mark of Cain, Post-Episode: s10e19 The Werther Project, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 22:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: April 23, 2015. After giving Rowena the Codex, Sam comes home, to bed.





	lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> A Perfect Circle - _Lullaby_ , track eleven on _Thirteenth Step_

_go back to sleep, go back to sleep_

 

The half-destroyed distillery where he stashed Rowena is a four-hour drive from the bunker, just over the border into Missouri. Not bad, but not great, either. He almost wishes it were farther away, though he doesn’t want her too far out from under his thumb. It’s just that he’s out of practice with lying to Dean. Distance helps.

It’s almost two a.m. when he ditches the stupid little stolen car a few miles outside of Lebanon. If he’s lucky it’ll still be there when he needs it again, though he kind of hopes it’s not. It gave him a twinge in the neck, crammed into its tiny interior. He walks the rest of the way, keeping to the side of the empty dirt roads. No one out here, ever, and certainly not at this time of night. The spring air’s cool, damp from the earlier rain. The moon’s big and looming in the huge empty sky and he shoves his hands into his pockets, breathes it in. He’s still not feeling in peak shape, but he’ll manage. The blood loss was nothing, really. He was prepared to do a lot more to get what he needed. Dean’s all too happy to feed him lots of red meat, in the meantime.

The door creaks as loud as ever when he comes in. Lights are still all on, as he left them, and the war room’s empty, as is the library, as is the kitchen when he checks it. He leans against the table there in the empty bright and sighs, closing his eyes. If he had a cup of coffee or two, maybe he could check into more of the lore about the curse-work Rowena’s going to have to do. They haven’t read every single book, and he’d be happier knowing more of the theory behind what she might get up to, even shackled and trussed, while he’s gone. He rubs his hand over his face, presses a thumb into his temple and lets his head’s weight fall, the low achy headache pulsing against his bones. Behind his hand it’s suddenly all dark and he sways, the day settling down heavy under his skin, and, okay. He doesn’t want coffee.

He should shower. He walks instead down the steps, down the dimmer hallways and around the corner to his room. Dark, and empty, and he strips off slow, kicks his boots and jeans into a pile on the floor. He blinks at his bare, neat bed.

Dean’s door is closed, but Sam doesn’t bother knocking. They don’t, usually. Dean especially doesn’t. He slips in, lets the door fall half-shut behind him so there’s just enough light to see by, and there. Dean, sprawled out on his back, blankets hitched up because he bitches that it’s always cold, down here. Sam curls his fingers around the edge of the door, just looks at him for a few seconds.

The bed doesn’t creak when Sam slips in. Can’t. Thank god for stupid memory foam mattresses. There are two pillows in here now, since they share about half the time, but Dean’s got them both. Sam lays on his side and curls his arm under his head, the corner of sheet he could steal tugged up to his waist. He can see the edge of Dean’s profile, in the so-dim light. His cheekbone. The fine clean line of his jaw. The familiar pale shape of his ear—and how can an ear be perfect, Sam wonders. How is it possible that even after decades of familiarity, of knowing this body as well as his own—better than his own—it’s still a marvel, sometimes. How is it possible.

He spent an hour staring at the codex. All the symbols, the sloppy pictograms, smeared rust-brown into the awful pages. No worse than the Book of the Damned, but still grotesque. Maybe Sam’s sense of the grotesque is skewed, though, since all he could see when he looked at all those vile spells was hope. Didn’t matter what the Stynes threatened, or what Dean warned might happen as a result of meddling with the dark. Didn’t matter that Rowena had practically drooled at the thought she’d get her hands on it, and didn’t that set the alarms to ringing. Still—it didn’t matter, and it still doesn’t. It can’t. The book and the codex to read it, they’re tools, that’s all. Tools are meant to be used; it’s up to the craftsman to decide how. He knows it’s meddling with forces unknown, and he knows that how badly things could go, if it all goes wrong. He blinks and his eyes are hot, but dry. Dean breathes deep, sleepy and oblivious, and Sam curls in a little closer, forces himself to stop just staring. No sense in worrying about it, now that he’s made his decision. He’s never had the luxury of being choosy about how his world is saved, and he’s not going to start now.

 

It’s—what—Sam jerks awake and it feels like an instant since he closed his eyes, but his brain’s all fogged, useless. He lifts up on one hand and feels for his gun but—oh, Dean—Dean’s moaning, in his sleep, breath coming jagged. Dreaming again. Sam stares, for a stupid second, and then puts his hand flat on Dean’s chest, shakes him. “Dean,” he says, “hey, it’s okay—”

Dean snaps a hand up and grabs Sam’s wrist, and then his eyes open, completely alert all at once. He lets out a short shocked breath, blinks at the ceiling, and then turns his head and looks at Sam. “When did you get here?” he says, after a second. His voice is low, pitched to rumble under Sam’s hand.

“Been here,” Sam says, which is mostly true. Dean still hasn’t let go of his wrist, and it’s—starting to hurt, a little. He puts on a smile. “I was _trying_ to get some sleep.”

Dean snorts, and lets go of his arm, sits up. “Well, didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty rest,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “God knows you need it.”

“Cute,” Sam says. He rubs his wrist, he hopes unobtrusively. Dean shifts around, gets his feet on the floor, and while Sam watches he plants his hands on the bed on either side of his hips and drops his head down, sighs. He’s broader now than he used to be. He usually works out when the Mark won’t let him sleep, but right now he just looks… tired. Sam clears his throat. “You want to talk about it?” Dean gives him a look, over his shoulder, and Sam shrugs. “Just asking.”

“Right,” Dean says, with an edge of sarcasm, but then he sighs, again, and shakes his head. “Right,” he says, more softly. He sounds—defeated. “Just—not much to talk about, Sammy.”

Sam licks his lips and sits up, all the way. He catches Dean’s shoulder, and tugs, and he’s aware of the gift it is that Dean still lets himself be turned around. That he still is willing to be here, with Sam, that he’s still the brother Sam knows, has always known, even when brutal circumstance has torn them apart. Dean’s expression is hard to read, but he doesn’t move away when Sam puts a hand to his jaw—just closes his eyes, leans into it.

It’s dim enough in here that Sam can’t really see the Mark. They haven’t talked, really, about the future Dean sees, about the decision he’s willing to let Sam make, and Sam doesn’t want to get into it. He drags his thumb over Dean’s cheek, stroking over the stubble, and then tugs Dean in, kisses him, soft, once. He’s not giving up. He never will.

“I’m tired,” Sam says, when he pulls back. Dean blinks at him. “It’s like four in the morning. I want to sleep.”

Dean wraps his hand over Sam’s wrist. Softer, now, not that Sam will mind if it bruises. He gives Sam a long look, and though his eyes are harder to see in the dim, Sam still knows the look in them. “You want me to stay?”

Sam lets out a little huff, can’t help it. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I want you to stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](http://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/160773682659/lullaby)


End file.
